


Operation Chucklebuck

by agentmarvel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Losers (2010), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Evanstan Rarepair Trashcan, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Rare Pairings, Stoic Bucky, basically all fluff, emotional jensen, jensen being jensen, maybe some angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 06:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmarvel/pseuds/agentmarvel
Summary: Jake Jensen always keeps his word. So when he swears he'll earn a smile from the new guy in group, he means it.





	Operation Chucklebuck

Jake Jensen was known as a man of his word. When he said he was going to do something, he damn sure did it, no matter what the cost.

Remember the time he told his niece that he’d be the number one fan of her soccer team? Never had he missed a game, even if that meant catching a red-eye flight from another country and heading back after he bought her ice cream and took her home. When the Pink Petunias started selling t-shirts to raise money, Jensen bought twenty. Literally. And he wore them as often as he possibly could (yes, he’s wearing one right now. It’s Tuesday, what did you expect?).

How about the time he said he’d someday defeat Clay when it came to arm wrestling? He did that too. As soon as Cougar let go of their clasped hands, he flicked his wrist as far forward as he could, knowing that was Clay’s weaker side. Those surgical pins must’ve been poking him the wrong way because Clay caved as soon as Jensen got that twist in. Sure, he cheated, but he still technically won.

And the time he promised Riley that he’d look after his wife and son until he came home? It was a seven-and-a-half hour drive from D.C. to Boston, but he made the trip once a month to visit them. He’d take David on trips to places they both wish Riley could’ve taken him, like baseball games or museums or the zoo. When they came back, he’d help Karen with dinner and the three of them would have a nice meal, chatting about the things they’d missed in each other’s lives since the last visit. Before leaving town, Jensen would stop by the Forest Hills Cemetery with a bag of Funyons to talk to Riley, let him know that Karen and David are doing okay and express how deeply he wished Riley were still here.

So when Jensen swore that he’d get the new guy in group to smile, everyone knew he meant it. This guy would be a tough nut to crack, all stoic and shit, but Jensen would not be easily swayed. He’d earn that smile if it was the last thing he ever did.

 

*

 

Jensen attended a PTSD support group overseen by his good friend, Sam Wilson. The two served on a few spec ops missions together, Wilson being an Airman, as well as one of the guinea pigs for the pararescue EXO-7 Falcon suits. He’d taken an honorable discharge after his field partner’s death. They’d spoken here and there since, but until Jensen stumbled across his group, he hadn’t seen Sam since Riley’s funeral back in ’09.

Three and a half months into Jensen attending these meetings, a new guy showed up. All that came to Jensen’s mind was _oh no, he’s gorgeous_. He was awfully bundled up for that time of year, wearing a thick hoodie, a sturdy jacket, and gloves. His hair was tied out of his face beneath a baseball cap, and his lower jaw was blanketed in stubble. Dark circles rested beneath his weary eyes. The man looked awfully familiar for some reason, but Jensen couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Where did he know this guy from?

( _Pretty sure you already know, but it’s his damn story, so let him tell it, would ya?_ )

Every week, he continued to come back to group, always with long sleeves and his hands covered (Jensen was genuinely curious as to whether he was hiding a bad tattoo or some kind of flesh-eating disease on his arms). He kept the same routine: just sat back and listened to whoever was speaking with a sympathetic expression, like he understood every moment of pain and panic that other group members had experienced. Never did he speak or share his story. He didn’t even so much as share a name. Jensen had to get _that_ information out of Sam.

“Who is he?” Jensen prodded, gesturing to the man across the room. He was cradling a styrofoam cup in his gloved hands, steam rolling off the top. It was filled to the brim with black coffee, no cream or sugar, threatening to spill at even the slightest movement. If the guy sneezed, it would be game over. That sludge would be everywhere.

“Name’s Barnes. He’s a friend of a friend.” Cocking an eyebrow, he leaned into Sam, prodding him with his elbow.

“Introduce me.” Sam shook his head with a chuckle, nudging Jensen away gently.

“Introduce yourself. I’m not your middle man.”

“No, but you _are_ my wingman.”

Sam Wilson couldn’t resist a good pun, even if no one else would really get why it was so good. So, with a resigned sigh, he led the way. Jensen was on his heels with every stride, doing his best not to lag. If he fell behind, it would seem like he’d asked to be introduced… Yeah, he technically _did_ ask, but he wanted it to seem at least somewhat natural. Didn’t want to come off as a total creep.

Almost immediately, Jensen could feel the sweat beading on his palms. If this guy was attractive from across the room, then God save them all because Barnes was absolutely fucking stunning up close. With steely grey eyes, plush, pillowy lips, and a jaw that could probably cut diamonds, there’s no way this guy was human. A God, maybe, but not human.

As Sam and Jensen approached, Barnes’ eyes locked on them. A trio of worried creases pinched his forehead as he surveyed them. Jensen wasn’t sure if it was just his anxiety or not, but Barnes seemed to focus on him a little bit longer as if he was some sort of potential threat. That’s probably why Sam stopped a few steps shy and put a hand out just enough to cause Jensen to pause.

“Bucky, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Jake Jensen. We served together a while back.”

Barnes gave Jensen a curt nod of acknowledgment.

“And Jensen,” Sam continued. “This is James Barnes.”

 

*

 

James Barnes was an enigma. Never once in the last few months had Jensen ever seen more than a ghost of a smile on his lips. He didn’t laugh or anything. Frankly, he was probably one of the strangest people Jensen had ever met, and he’d met some real fuckin’ whack jobs. At least they actually expressed emotion instead of just brooding in the corner all the time.

To be fair, Jensen understood why Barnes was the way he was. Took him way too long to figure it out, but he finally realized why the guy looked so familiar: Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes of the 107th Division. He was known as an excellent marksman, a master of hand-to-hand combat, and the right-hand man to Captain America himself, Steve Rogers. It was thought that Barnes died in 1945 after a fall from a train into a raging ravine. But in 2016, it became public knowledge that he was alive and well… Y’know, aside from the whole “brainwashed homicidal assassin” thing.

No wonder he was so stoic. That didn’t exactly make for pleasant memories, and Jensen couldn’t even begin to imagine the things Barnes had seen.

Maybe that’s why he wanted so badly to see this guy smile. James had a lifetime of misery stacked up behind him, holding him up like his spine was constructed of nothing but tragedies. If Jensen could con him into smiling, then maybe – just maybe – Barnes would see that it’s okay to stop breaking his back; it’s okay for him to lean on something (or some _one_ ) else instead.

That’s when he started plotting, and Operation Chucklebuck was a go.

 

-

 

His first attempt was somewhat less than graceful.

Barnes had gotten comfortable enough to stick around after meetings, usually nursing a styrofoam cup of straight black coffee and sticking fairly close to Sam while he spoke with various other attendees. As the group wrapped up for the week, Jensen snuck across the room to the refreshment table. He poured two cups of disgustingly familiar sludge, plopped two cookies on a napkin, and somehow managed to gather it all in his hands.

Sparing a “casual” (read: definitely not casual whatsoever) glance around, he spied Barnes standing alone. Sam was nowhere in sight, so this was the perfect opportunity. He slinked across the room, sidling up next to the brunette.

Nonchalantly, he thrust the cup of coffee out without looking. Big mistake. His knuckles collided with James’ rock solid chest. Liquid sloshed over the lip and right down the front of the other man’s shirt. Barnes stifled a yelp and took a step back, staring wide-eyed as Jensen. Jensen felt his expression growing to mirror the other man.

“Shit,” he hissed. “I’m so sorry.”

Doing his best to ignore the crushed remains of cookies long forgotten crunching beneath his boots, Jensen began to dab the napkin against James’ stomach. Well, his abs. His firm, well-sculpted abs. If it weren’t for the fact that he probably just fuckin’ burned the shit outta this stud, he’d be drooling.

“S’alright,” Barnes murmured, shucking his jacket. He peeled off the grey henley clinging to his likely scalded skin, revealing a black t-shirt. The wet spot on his shirt revealed the details of what Jensen had just been scrubbing at, and _holy shit, yup_ , he’s definitely drooling.

To ease the awkwardness, he thought it’d be best to make a joke.

“Man, not even the first date and I’m getting you outta your clothes.”

Barnes wasn’t impressed.

 

-

 

His following attempts didn’t exactly pan out either…

Rather than garnering a genuine grin by action, he opted to try words. The only problem with that was that Barnes was abso-fucking-lutely oblivious. He tried all sorts of pick-up lines to get a laugh, but every single one failed. Everything he said was taken literally.

His first line was a classic.

“I lost my number, can I have yours?”

To which Barnes replied, “I’m not too good with technology, but Sam might be able to help.”

The second was a bit more forward, but still a classic.

“Are those space pants? Because that ass is out of this world.”

The response to that was so innocent, but it was so hard for Jensen not to facepalm and walk out.

“They’re denim, actually.”

Okay, so that plan wasn’t going to work. In true Jake Jensen fashion, he just moved on to Plan C. When that didn’t work, it was on the Plan D. Then Plan E, Plan F, Plan G…

His other failures included, but were not limited to: hitting Barnes with a door on accident (he was trying to be a gentleman. How was he supposed to know that Barnes was on the other side of the fuckin’ door?!), scaring the living hell out of him by trying to rub his shoulders, sneezing on him, inadvertently complimenting him on his perfect ass, implying that he would let Barnes fuck him into next week (which definitely wasn’t untrue), and basically insulting his grandmother in Russian (fuck Google Translate. The pronunciation was so far off, it’s not even funny!). It was safe to say that Jensen had managed to make a complete and total ass of himself with no intention of doing so. All he wanted was to see Barnes smile…

In a state of complete and utter self-doubt, Jensen found himself sitting on the curb outside the clinic. No matter how he racked his brain, he couldn’t seem to figure out just how he’d managed to take so many missteps in his plans. If it weren’t for bad luck, he supposed, he’d have no luck at all…

“What’s chompin’ at your bits?” Sam chuckled, crouching down beside him. Jensen raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Sam before sighing.

“Don’t, Sam. Please, just… Don’t.” He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to admit that he failed. That was never in his nature. Jake Jensen always kept his word, and speaking his thoughts would only serve to strip him of that honor. When that’s the only thing he has left, how can he be expected to give that up?

“I’m not psychic, man. I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.”

“Let it go,” Jensen muttered, kicking a pebble into the street. But Sam Wilson wasn’t the type to just let shit go. That was common knowledge.

“Tell me.” The more Jensen refused, the harder Sam pushed. He kept poking and nagging and prodding until finally Jensen just snapped.

“It’s Barnes, okay?!” he shouted, voice wavering, thick with emotions. “All I wanted since the day I first saw him was just to make him smile. Hell! I would’ve settled for even seeing him smile! I promised I’d get that smile! But I keep fucking it up. Every single time I try, I fuck it up. That’s all I do, Sam! I-I… I fuck everything up.”

His voice faltered as it dropped to barely above a whisper. Tears stung his eyes like a swarm of threatened bees, and he willed them not to fall. But, of course, he fucked that up, too. A few drops plopped down on the back of his hand. He’s not sure why he’s getting so worked up about it.

“You like him,” Sam says softly, patting Jensen’s shoulder.

“What the fuck do I do?” he continues. “I don’t have nightmares about combat anymore, Sam. I have nightmares about what he thinks of me. It stresses me out to have to put effort into my appearance for these meetings so he doesn’t think I’m some fuckin’ homeless guy that snuck in for stale donuts. I look for stupid excuses to talk to him, even if he looks at me the whole time like I’m growin’ a third head. Going above and beyond for a fuckin’ smile from a guy that probably hates me because I keep making myself look stupid. Great fuckin’ plan, huh?”

“You wanna see me smile, Jensen? Ask me on a date. You’ll get a real good smile outta that.”

Jensen’s head whips around so fast, he’s afraid he’ll start spitting pea soup next. Bucky’s standing behind him, leaning up against the wall. He’s got one knee bent with a foot resting against the wall. Those thick arms are folded across his chest, wrapped in a leather jacket, and holy shit, Jensen might just come in his pants.

He leaps to his feet, straightening out his t-shirt and then stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“How, uh… How much of that did you hear?” he asked, looking down at where he’d just been sitting while Sam backs his way out of the conversation and back into the building.

“Enough,” Barnes replied coolly, taking a step away from the wall. Jensen didn’t say anything; he just continued to visually map the cracks in the cement. He chewed at the inside of his lip, unsure of how exactly to respond.

And it stayed silent like that until cool metal fingers found a gentle grip on his chin and forced him to look up. Those steely eyes held a challenging stare.

“Keep your promise, Jake. Make me smile.” The use of his first name sent a chill down his spine, but that sparked a resurgence of confidence, and Jensen smiled wide. Boldly, his hands found their place on Bucky’s hips.

“Let me take you out. Dinner, drinks, movie, whatever you want. Name it, and it’s yours. And yes, it’s a date.” _Smooth, Jensen. So smooth. Like butter._

Barnes nodded, “That sounds great.”

But his expression didn’t change.

“Do I get that smile now?”

Barnes cocked an eyebrow, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe you’d better kiss me…”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and feedback would be great!
> 
> harass me on tumblr: @sebeefstianstan


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